Enough To Last The Winter
by lastglimpseofwinter
Summary: No songs would be sung of sweet Catelyn Tully from Riverrun, or of the respectable Catelyn Stark, Lady of Winterfell, the world would only remember Lady Stoneheart the wretched woman of the North, if they remembered her at all.


Her hair was the colour of blood and was as long as the list of the dead. It hung limply over her shoulder, contrasting against the slate grey of her gown. To her front there stood a ruined keep; scorched in places, cracked in others. For years she'd dreamed of this moment, of coming home, but what stood in-front of her was irreconcilable. It tasted sour in her mouth, _like her lemon cakes._

The gates were gone, as was the weirwood tree, three of the towers had collapsed, and two of the outer walls were missing. This was home, _but it wasn't Sansa's home anymore._ Out of the corner of her eye, she could see a figure rocking from side to side and fretting._ 'Curious',_ she thought as she turned and walked towards the anomaly. She strolled until she stood just out of reach of the creature, sword drawn, she spoke,_ "Who trespasses upon my house's lands? To whom am I speaking?"_

The shade wailed and wept in response; crying to the box in it's scarred hands._ "Then the towers collapsed upon him, upon him!"_ It's voice was scratchy and frantic. _"The sea swallowed our home...you were my rock, I built my life upon you...you left me. The wolves they howled every night, and a fire in the library, and drums, the drums...boom...doom...boom...and then it was wet and red. I built it on you, and you left, my life fell to the sand...the ocean wore away at it and took everything."_

Sansa could feel it, the beast of remembrance welling up in her chest, it's dark hands reaching up to choke the life from her until her face was black and her eyes wept_ 'valonquar'_. Shaking her head free of thoughts that weren't her's, she reached out and placed her hand upon it's shoulder. Hateful eyes locked with her own and she started to weep._ "No...no, you, you can't. You..with Robb, no. This is not, this can not-,"_ her voice, like many things had in her life, failed her.

The impossible woman removed a hand from the oak box she cradled and touched it to Sansa's cheek. _"I knew a girl that looked like you once,"_ she rasped. _"she had a stomach full of lemon cakes and dreams in her hair."_

The tears ran like salty rivers down Sansa's face.

Squealing the woman tore her hand from Sansa's cheek, and pressed the box closer to her bosom._ "Mine, you can't take hi—I won't let you, not again...promised 'rienne I'd tear your golden hair out and choke you with-Ned, he—I loved him once."_

_'The roles were reversed last time I saw you,'_ Sansa thought,_ 'look at us now, me the woman, you the child.'_ The woman-child was frantic and indiscernible, jumping through words and emotions, patting Sansa's hair with frail fingers one moment, then croaking about tearing it out the next. _"Have you met my husband?"_ Mot—the woman wheezed,_ "he left me, but he came back...my babes didn't though, Robb, Sansa, Bran, Arya, Rickon...they left me, they said they'd be back..they promised but they lied-died, and Arya."_ She stopped, sadly glancing around. _"I've not heard a word of Arya."_

_'Hasn't life stolen enough from the Starks?'_ Sansa wondered bitterly, as her tears dried on her cheeks,_ 'must it now taint the memory of my lady mother? Mother wasn't a monster, or mad, or miserable. Mother wasn't this thing.'_ Combing her fingers through the matted and brittle hair, Sansa tried to soothe her mother. "_Tell me sweetling, what is this? Hmm?"_ she asked gently, nodding her head at the box.

_"__Can't you see?"_ confusion dwelt with hate in Catelyn's eyes, _"my apologies, I thought you cou-this is Ned."_

It'd been sixteen years and her father's name still brought tears to her eyes and stole air from her lungs._ "Ned?"_

_"__My husband, this is him. He left me years ago, rode off a boy, came back a man and a with another woman's son—or he might not have come back, because he left, or did I leave?"_ To hear her mother confusing the many tragedies of the Starks was heartbreaking.

Slipping one of her hands from the mess that was her mother's hair, Sansa reached into her cloak._ "Tell me about him? Did you love each-other? Were you happy?"_

_"__Yes...we loved each-other after some time...took effort, and children, but we grew to love each-other."_ Choking back a sob, Sansa made what she hoped to be an encouraging noise. _"He was good, naively so, and honourable. North to the bone, winter lived in his soul, winter and I. We were happy and blessed with a loving marriage."_ Catelyn manicly stroked the box as she spoke.

_"__Was it enough?"_

_"__No..."_ she trailed off,_ "...life rarely gives you enough of anything."_

_"__I don't suppose it does, not enough lemon cakes, not enough time, not enough love."_

_"__Never enough."_

Grasping her blade, Sansa waited._ "...but was it adequate? No regrets?"_

Catelyn, who was and wasn't, laughed. _"Yes, Sansa, it was. I received more than most do, and I, like many, have regrets that I have learned to live with."_

Hand outstretched ready to strike, Sansa froze._ "What?"_

_"__Oh my sweet, its been a lifetime, but I still remember your face,"_ mangled lips pursed in amused reproach,_ "now go on, make it quick."_

Shaking and pale, she rose to her feet and moved until she was looking her mother in the eye. Taking the box gently from her bony hands, and setting it to the side. _"I am sorry mother."_

It was a simple enough farewell, but an eternity seemed to live within._ 'I am sorry this happened to you', 'I am sorry this happened to us', 'I am sorry I left', 'I am sorry I grew up away from you', 'I am sorry', 'I am sorry', 'I am sorry.'_

_"__I know," _half-dead as she was, Catelyn knew that at the least, _"and Sansa, bury us in the crypts, don't you dare put us in that bloody river by the Old Gods and the New, we will never rest in peace."_

Laughing softly, Sansa agreed. She was a Stark, _and Starks do their duties._ Closing her eyes, she took a breath then opened them and struck. Her sword was a beast, _and it's bite was cold and red._

No songs would be sung of sweet Catelyn Tully from Riverrun, or of the respectable Catelyn Stark, Lady of Winterfell, the world would only remember Lady Stoneheart the wretched woman of the North,_ if they remembered her at all._

Sansa thought that was sad, _her mother had deserved songs at the least._


End file.
